


His Little Sunflower

by High5Nerd



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluffyfest, Gen, Memories, Pitch was a good dad, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 22:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13534212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/High5Nerd/pseuds/High5Nerd
Summary: You found a poorly bound book within the archives of Tooth's secret library, and you discover a bittersweet memory of a certain Boogeyman. Perhaps this memory will strike more humanity into him than the Guardians could realize.





	His Little Sunflower

**Author's Note:**

> For anxiety-jack  
> Sorry this is so short, this is basically a flash one shot. Enjoy!

Pitch’s memories were unlike any other human’s here on Earth, mostly because they contained a life unlike any mortal would ever understand. He was from a completely different time period, a different era and a different culture, with a different world. He came from the stars, you know. Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be perusing the archives of the memories of Tooth’s Palace. You’re lucky she let you into here, or perhaps she doesn’t know you snuck through the gap of the archive’s grand, golden and sapphire doors and found this old, withered bound book in her hideaway library.

Though teeth hold the memories of all, sometimes the Tooth Fairy keeps records of the most precious of memories to those who have a chance of regaining that memory sometime in their life. It’s a collection of records that she selfishly yet considerately keeps, wishing to uphold in case there ever was such a need where teeth would not be the first choice to aid someone in remembering something dear or important to them.

You don’t yet know that while you read this, the Boogeyman himself is remembering this long lost memory from his past. It’s one of the consequences of the Archives, that while you infiltrate into their memories, they remember exactly that specific time you’re reading over.

 

While you peruse the pages, it struck Pitch Black out of surprise at the sudden recollection of his daughter. By this time, he knew fairly well that Mother Nature was his long lost daughter, now a grown woman that refused to join any side. He learned that the hard way, and she refuses to show herself to him ever since their first meeting since the war back among the stars. But knowing that she was alive, that he wasn’t the last of his race eased him, and the memory that came flooding back with warmth brought a smile to his face amidst the darkness he crawled through in the depths of the tunnels underneath cities spreading far and wide. Compared to his life now, his former life was full of light and smells of many kinds.

This certain memory was a smell of sugar, spice and burning batter.

 

It was his little girl’s eighth birthday, and since his wife was unable to join them for the celebration due to her necessary attendance at their mother-in-law’s house to help her recover from sickness, he was in full father mode with getting everything ready for his little princess. As Emily Jane slept, he tiptoed down the stairs into the wide hallway, immediately darting into the kitchen in just his slippers and his crimson and gold robe. Despite hair ungraciously unbrushed, he pushed back his raven black hair with a grin and admired the tools he set out the night before to create her special breakfast treat. Along with the present he had yet to wrap. He knew she would be thrilled at seeing her early present, when usually the family opened them after dinner that day.

Emily Jane was always fond of pancakes, especially a pile of them with a pat of melting butter on top, blueberry syrup dripping down the sides thickly and with peanut butter in between each pancake. Note, the peanut butter. Emily Jane  _ loved  _ peanut butter. Pitch’s wife was the breakfast expert in the house while Pitch mastered the art of dishes meant for dinner meals, but now was his turn to whip up a perfectly crafted batch of fluffy pancakes.

 

Easier said than done. Pitch’s flaw for perfection got in the way of simply making a regular batch of pancakes and setting them out for him and his sunflower, but no, he needed the  _ perfect  _ batch. Not just any pancakes, but the fluffiest, tastiest, sweetest pancakes he could make. He’s never done that before, but he was willing to go the extra mile for Emily Jane’s happiness and joy when she woke up to the smell of the savory aroma.

Piles of pancakes turned into a forest of tree-like stacks of pancakes, but he had not yet crafted the perfect set of pancakes yet. Adding butter did nothing, doing less butter made it worse. Butter in the pan certainly helped, adding blueberries in the pancakes was a good idea, but he knew Emily Jane liked them plain with blueberry syrup rather than blueberries inside them. She was a picky eater just like him.

Flipping the pancakes in the air was fun, and a part of him believed it did help, because soon he ended up with six perfect, fluffy, thick pancakes on a china plate decorated with sunflowers and forget-me-nots. Between each pancake was a thick spread of peanut butter, and the delicious breakfast was doused in blueberry syrup with the perfect amount of butter on the top.

 

Pitch retreated to the living room until dawn broke, usually when Emily Jane wakes up and heads downstairs to join the sun’s waking morning. He flopped into a winged armchair, deflated yet victorious, feeling proud of himself yet wishing he could go back to bed. One leg was draped over the armrest with the other out in front of him, nudging the ottoman in front of his foot. The smell of pancakes finally got to him since he cooked so many in a short amount of time, so he resorted to scooping the remaining leftovers of peanut butter with a plastic spoon and eating it ravenously.

Sure enough, by the time the telltale pitter patter of little feet came fluttering down the stairs into the kitchen, he grinned at the sound of an excitable gasp and the footprints sprinting into the living room where he sat. There stood his daughter, bright eyed, bushy tailed and with eyes shining with joy and a smile to match with it.

 

“Thank you, Daddy! This is the best birthday ever!” she leapt into his arms and hugged him tight.

“Mmf, nu prublm-” he murmured, realizing with embarrassment his mouth was sewn shut with peanut butter at the roof of his mouth.

 

Though you now feel a pang of guilt for reading it and making the Boogeyman remember a bittersweet memory that might bring back pain, at least you brought a smile to his face. That doesn’t happen a lot for the ancient spirit, since he’s constantly in the dark surrounded by the nightmares he gives life to. So though feeling angry at the infiltration and knowledge that someone else saw his private memory, he can’t help but feel grateful that you reminded him of a memory that almost slipped away for good.


End file.
